


roots over flowers

by ofkrypton



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Canon Bisexual Character, Coming Out, F/F, F/M, FTM, Gender Confusion, Gender Dysphoria, M/M, Non-binary character, Other, Post-Finale, Trans Character, female to male
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 12:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4835789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofkrypton/pseuds/ofkrypton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And there were other times — <i>when he tightened the bindings on his chest too tightly, when he silently cringed reading 'she' and 'her' in the papers</i>— which could have served as the true start of his journey. </p><p>Yet, centuries from then, when he was long gone and another Avatar walked the world, all biographers would agree on one truth: </p><p>Ember Island had changed <b><i>everything</i></b>.</p><p>―<br/>This is a story about love and how easily we can love others before we love ourselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	roots over flowers

**Author's Note:**

> _Hello, all!_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Before you go on, I'd like to give some background on this piece and why I've decided to write it._
> 
> _This story features a transmasculine Korra, a Korra whose gender identity and expression takes on a different approach than we saw in the canon. This fic will deal with his experiences in discovering who he believes himself to be, how he and the ones around him adapt to this transition. His transition._
> 
> _I've decided to write this story on encouragement from my sister a few months back when we were going through some great Korrasami art. One artist had drawn them in various ways with both Korra and Asami presented in different gender identities: http://obsidian-fenghuang.tumblr.com/post/127658917358. We thought it was wonderful._
> 
> _Then we started discussing the fact that in all our years of being in the LoK fandom, every Rule!63, 'genderbent' work featuring a male presenting Korra was always cis-gendered male version. A Korra who had been biologically born male and brought up as male rather than female. Not to say we don't enjoy these versions of male presenting Korras, but we thought it was a good time bring in a different variation._
> 
> _As a transman myself, I understand each person's transition is different and will try to be sympathetic to this. I will also warn any trans/genderfluid/agender/etc. readers who have faced/are facing dysphoria, abuse, or harassment that later chapters may be triggering._
> 
> _Thank you all so much for your interest and I hope you enjoy the story._

The first touch of dawn spilled over the skyline of Republic City, illuminating the streets for early morning delivery trucks and the docks for the fishermen pushing off into Yue Bay. Birds fluttered from their nests atop tall skyscrapers, shopkeepers readied their front windows. Parents began their morning struggles between tall cups of tea and lethargic children.

With each passing minute the Sun made its slow rise above the metropolis and with it, the people also stirred to meet the day.

Gradually the soft rays seeped through a certain set of flimsy curtains to brighten a small sanctuary. Light glinted off the tools scattered across a busy work bench and caught on the picture frames placed atop the desk opposite the bench. The silver knobs on a quiet radio at the far side of the room gleamed.

From Asami’s vantage point along the open threshold of the room’s door, this appeared to be a near peaceful  ― almost lazy setting.

_“... following months of rare sightings and indirect statements,  
an official news conference will to be held this afternoon at City Hall  ―”_

The tranquility was interrupted by the young man hunched over her desk. Specifically it was the work of a pen held by this man. A pen scratching more than gliding against the papers before him, each stroke sent waves of tension through the small space before they were mere ripples lapping at her bare feet.

Though the day had barely begun for most, the ideas which were ‘early’ and ‘late’ seemed irrelevant to the man. All which appeared to hold meaning were those words he continued to write over and over (those still visible at least) untouched by angry inked lines.

A frown settled across her nude lips. Watching her paramour in such distress brought forth memories of some of the longest days and nights of their lives. His progress from the last year appeared to had vanished overnight.

_“Once again, the world waits eagerly for answers only the arguably  
most illusive Avatar in history knows. All eyes will be ―”_

He paid no mind the movement her feet made against the carpet’s softness as she ventured forward. He hardly noticed the clicking the radio knobs made as she searched for another station.

It was only when the start of a favorite tune filled the air did the pen find pause.

The orchestra flowed, strings and woodwind coupled with brass and percussion.

And then the pen was forgotten all together.

The engineer smoothed her hands over the width of his shoulders, humming in time with the music as it swelled. She tapped her fingers against his forehead.

“I can hear those gears grinding, tough guy.”

His laugh earned her smile. The sound dispelled the tension. So Asami tugged him from the chair and brought him to the space between the desk and the workbench, where the morning sun spotlighted them.  

She draped her arms around his neck before pulling his shorter frame close to her own. In return his hands found their place on the small of her back. They quickly fell into step, swaying to the slow rhythm in a practiced (though improper) waltz.

A contented sigh fell from the young man’s lips before he gave her a slanted half-grin.

“You’re pretty forward. Do you do this a lot? Ask strangers to dance before asking their names?” He began their game.

Asami shook her head, but laughed all the same. 

“Rarely. I guess this makes you special,” she bantered, allowing him to twirl her. “Although, now that you mention it, what is your name? Or should I come up with one for you?”

All at once, the placid morning fell away.

They no longer danced in the study. They were amidst a crowded dance floor, moving slower than the other couples who blurred around them. The brightening sunlight gave way to the low light of flickering lanterns.

The tightness in his chest eased the instance he met her gaze. He saw what he had that night so many months prior.

Unrestricted, unfathomable, _undeniable_ affection.

He drew her to him to press the slope of his chest against hers, to feel their heartbeats sync.

And his grin softened into a simple smile as he made his reply.

His answer was without pause, sure and confident. The way he hoped it would be later in the afternoon.

“My name’s ‘Hakoda’, but you can call me ‘Koda’.”

Asami nodded. Proud of his answer, of him. She paused their movements to cupped his face and brought his lips to her own.

“I'm sure _everyone_ does,” she said gently against his lips, the game lost for a moment, “so how about, I’ll call you my ‘forever boy’?”

“I don’t know about that. I’ve got this really gorgeous girlfriend, she'll probably get jealous,” he teased.

Asami thumped her fist lightly against his chest with a ‘tsk’. His chin fit against her shoulder. His eyes closed and they resumed their dance.

She played on.

“I’m not too worried. I can handle her. In fact, for you? I could fight Vaatu.”

Koda tightened his arms around Asami when she made her declaration, losing himself in the sentiment, the music, and the recollection from the past year.

He reviewed every second, until he reached the beginning.

However, determining beginnings can be difficult.

Unlike auto races and bending matches, there is no designated announcer to tell us when to start our lives. There is no true guidebook, or signs to lead us along. There are only moments, moments wherein we look back and realize we are either in the midst of our stories, or at their ends.

When he was no taller than the whimpering polar bear pup he had brought home and insisted on keeping. Back when he first declared he was the Avatar, but hardly understood what the title meant.

His start may have been the afternoon his parents had spent with him in full. On that warm day they gone out to fish, just the three of them.

And perhaps he had came to his realization throughout the day. As he helped his mother make their fishing hole in the ice, or after he carried the poles home with his father. Or as envy had surged in him the second he had heard his mother give praise and he too wished he was a ' _Big, Strong Ma_ n' .

He was too young to understand then, others would argue someday.

So perhaps it was much later, after Amon was defeated and the Equalists fell.

Between the return of his bending and the return of the spirits.

Back when he and Mako still shared a bed.

During the earliest of hours in the day, he had tiptoed out of the room. His brief trip was delayed by a search for something to keep him warm during the trek to the bathroom and back.

This reality changing truth could have come during the few minutes he had spent in front of the mirror.

He had donned Mako's shirt with the long sleeves pushed up to his elbows. The hem reached down to cover the wide width of his hips. He had buttoned it to the collar.  

He turned this way and that with squared shoulders. His hair had been a heavy mess, a thick ponytail against his neck, but it was pulled away from his face. He had lifted his chin, almost to challenge his own reflection.

Maybe it had all started then; in the moment a much too brief thought occurred to him. The idea, no, the _truth_ which was in fact that he preferred this to his usual appearance.

The idea came and went. And so did he, back to his room to lay beside his best friend until morning. A strange knot of a fear settled in his stomach.

And there were other times — _when he tightened the bindings on his chest too tightly, when he silently cringed reading 'she' and 'her' in the papers_ — which could have served as the true start of his journey.

Yet, centuries from then, when he was long gone and another Avatar walked the world, all biographers would agree on one truth:

Ember Island had changed _**everything**_.


End file.
